Hell on Legs
by dblauvelt
Summary: Uber-Tegan kicks interstellar ass in a TARDIS battle suit and companions past and present try to stop her from... herself?
1. Default Chapter

Turlough crawled out of the ventilation vent into the navigation booth and stared through the glass partition at the scene in the hanger below with horror: at the far end, across an acre of steel flooring stood the TARDIS with the Doctor and Tegan crouched beside a small metal pod while behind them space swept off into nothing, held back by the hangar force field, and between Turlough and his friends were thousands upon thousands of the hideous crawling Valours, wretched carapaced crustaceans that advanced upon this friends, their claws snipping at the air. Desperate, Turlough turned to the wall armory behind him and snatched up one of the strange, black bulbous cannons. It was only as he was fumbling with its fifty-pound mass did he realize that he didn't have the slightest clue how to fire it.

The squawk of alarm made him look up; they'd seen him in the control booth and were skittering his way.

Turlough awkwardly hefted the weapon, undecided as to whether to simply surrender or make a break for the ventilation duct.

That was when reality warped behind him, barfing out an impossibly figure.

/Thanks/

The voice echoed in Turlough's head even as his hands twitched at empty air as the woman breezily lifted it out of his hands and ran at the glass partition, casting the rifle, end over end, at the glass, shattering it neatly as she dived through it, folding into a cannonball of leather and spiked hair fell down in to the hanger, exploding at the last minute into a writhing fury of limbs and knifes as she rampaged through the aliens, slicing a path towards the Doctor.

Dumbstruck, Turlough blinked at the figure as it cut a swath of death and destruction, a veritable hell on legs, leaving behind cracked and spasming limbs and antennae. He noticed that far across the hangar, Tegan sat up and was staring at the woman maurading towards her, her expression priceless. A tiny voice, his survival voice -his best friend, gave his brain a nudge and Turlough started to climb out of the window to follow the woman who was clearly heading for the TARDIS, wondering all the while why he couldn't find neat outfits like that in the wardrobe room.

* * *

Tegan stared disbelieving, her mind racing. _It's not possible._

The figure's swords and knives whistled theatrically through the air and torsos as she approached, her ginsu ballet pausing only momentarily to catch the rifle as if finally fell from the sky before blasting away the larger Valours that threw themselves on her. The woman laughed as she kicked, hacked and flaming through their ranks.

Beside her the Doctor screwed and clamped away at the device, a scrambing signal that would disorientate the invading Valouring Fleet so he could deactivate their dimensional force bombs. He'd instructed her not to interrupt him, but somehow, Tegan felt justified in tapping him on the shoulder. Tegan took in the greasy, spiked hair that burned red at the tips, the graceful, muscular limbs and the all too familiar face. _It can't be._

/Hello./ The voice in her mind was brash, loud and cheerful.

It was her's.

_You're me!_

/I was./ The figure was closer now, smiling grimly as she rammed her fist into a Valourian faceplate. /Alternate reality. Doc couldn't save me from the Mara; it consumed me, dragged me kicking and screaming through hell and back./

Tegan blinked at the other version of her that bit, whacked and punched her way towards, them; her face was the same, the eyes worn, the face lined, the eyes burning with an energy she'd never felt. It was her, in black leather and four inch heels.

_The Mara, it ate you_. Tegan staggered back, overwhelmed by the invasive memories of the force that twice tried to devour the universe through her.

/It did/ Uber-Tegan slashed through the last of the decaptitated aliens and stood before Tegan, sheathing her sword and tossing the massive rifle to the ground. /And then I made it my bitch/ Winking at her other self, Uber-Tegan strode into the TARDIS and slammed the doors closed behind her. Soon the sounds of the timeship engines faded with the blue box, leaving the air empty except for the groans and chittering of the fallen aliens and the crunching steps of Turlough as he stood beside her.

With a bleep, the Doctor activated the device. "There we are," he said proudly, his eyes gleaming with delight as he stood up, brushing off his knees. "That should take care of the Valourians…" he trailed off as he took in the carnage and destruction around him. He frowned disappointingly at his companions. "Have I missed something?" he asked innocently.


	2. Fans of Foes

Turlough piloted the Valorian shuttlecraft into the heart of the solar system as the homing beacon glittered in the Doctor's lap. Tegan sat at the rear of the craft watching as the outer planets coasted past her portal. The Valorian fleet remained far behind them, hiding in the ion scatter of Neptune's upper atmosphere, silent and lurking.

"No one is pursuing us," muttered Turlough as he flicked through the ships scanners.

"Hmmm," the Doctor pulled out a set of miniature screwdrivers and began to tweak and scratch at the homing beacon. "We've managed to set them back a bit, but I still need to fix those dimensional rifts…"

Turlough cast a cautious look into the shadows of the craft at Tegan. "I'm assuming first we have to deal with… a… her?"

"Yes, quite." The Doctor's voice was laden with worry, and he too peered back at their companion. "Tegan with the power of a God… mildly disturbing. Not that I never had a hunch of course," the Doctor trailed off.

"You mean that's really me?" Tegan's voice cut through their quiet whispers, elbowing them aside with its raw emotion. "Not the Mara?"

"It's possible," the Doctor conceded as he returned to his work. "The Mara only ever wanted to use you as a portal, not as a permanent host. From what you described… well, lets just say it doesn't sound as if the Mara would let you dominate willingly."

Tegan's face was pale, her eyes hidden by the dim light of the craft.

The Doctor flinched as the device sparked and he blew on his fingers, annoyed. "Whatever she's up to we have to stop her."

"Do we?" Turlough scowled at the autopilot readings.

"What?" Tegan turned on her red-headed companion.

"Well, it's just that I really don't quite see the problem…" Turlough said quietly as he absently fiddled with the directional controls. "After all, she didn't do anything. Except from save all of us from a rather nasty death." Turlough considered. "And borrow the TARDIS."

"_Borrow?"_ The Doctor's face flamed with pained fury.

"Yes." Turlough protested lamely. "We don't really know what she's up to." Turlough looked from one enraged face to another. "Besides, I thought she seemed rather nice, actually. Forceful. Very focused. Definitely an improvement."

"WHAT!" Tegan sputtered.

"Tegan, Tegan," the Doctor said hurriedly as he glared at Turlough. "I need you to focus. Please. I need your help. I've managed to get a fix on her next location using the TARDIS homing beacon; it seems she'll be on Earth in three days time. We can just about make it there before her, but we need to know what she's up to. Now then," the Doctor shoved the beacon into his coat pocket and gently took Tegan by the shoulders, his eyes bright blue and anything but reassuring. "What would you do if you were you?"


	3. Closing Time

San Diego, 2005 

Dorothee McShane stumbled round the corner of Fourth &B, accidentally scuffing a heel on the uneven sidewalks as she made her way through the crowd that shoved and shouldered their way out of the Moby concert, marijuana and trance music billowing in their wake.

Too much gin. Dorothee shook her head clear as she walked down the streets towards the harbor. Not enough tonic.

She'd promised herself no more jumps, no more clubs, just relaxing in eighteenth century Paris and keep an eye out for any random pillaging or lost aliens. She'd been doing exactly that for the past thirteen months. But between the awful music and the appeal of hour long showers, Dorothee couldn't stay away from what was roughly her era.

And when ever she was back, no matter how fancy the dress she was in, she always felt like Ace again.

And at thirty-five, feeling like she was eighteen again was far too disturbing.

Or appealing.

She was never exactly sure.

Nonetheless here she was, back again. Above her, the sky scrapers shimmered up to the stars and the bay swept out under the curved bridge to Coronado, gently lapping at the steel hulls of the aircraft carriers and destroyers. Near the Marriott, two shining hands that curved out to the sea, Dorothee slowed her pace as she neared the alley where she'd left her motorcycle, hidden among the dustbins and the homeless that slept within wool and cotton cocoons. Slipping the shoes off her feet, she picked her way barefoot towards her two-wheeled time craft, fumbling in her purse for the keys.

In the distance she heard the faint bark of tires squealing, the background hum of late night traffic and the groans and sighs unique to shipyards the world over.

Her spidey-senses, dulled by alcohol and the euphoria of the music, were almost too late to save her. Her ears discerned a sound, once so familiar, yet sped up and played back at such a rate that she almost didn't recognize it. As it was she barely had a chance to duck before the fist took a chunk out of the wall beside her.

Her purse skidded under a dustbin, slapping a homeless man against the face. His eyes snapped open in surprise as he stared at the barefoot woman across the ground from him, her red dress fluttering around her in the night breeze, her chest pressed into the grime of the street as she gaped at the thing- no, the woman above her.

"Give it to me now." The voice was firm, calm, and completely free of insanity, threat or menace.

Not, thought Ace, that it needed to. The outfit said it all really.

Slick black leather shone around the taught muscles of the thin limbs, vanishing beneath the thick cape of the trailing jacket that seemed to hold the very blackness of space in the depths of its folds. The hair, spiked and flared, stuck out at the dark sky in chaotic angles, scraping down into her pale neck that glowed white in the light of night before plunging into the stern outline of body armor that dwelled beneath the leather and malevolence.

The woman reached out a hand, pawing for Ace's chest.

_Not tonight, thanks_. Ace kicked upwards, knocking aside the hand and throwing herself to the-

The woman had somehow already grabbed her arm and was pulling her back, into her darkness.

_What the?_ Ace's brain stuttered in confusion- there was no way anyone could move that fast, no way. The hand bit into her flesh with impossible savagery and Ace found herself reacting instinctively, lashing out: face, breast, groin; Ace elbowed, punched and kicked in rapid succession, rolling out of her reach and sprinting down the street, cradling her bleeding elbow, her broken toes screaming as she headed for the open highway by the water, racing past the Star of India, as the old ship swayed soothingly on the gentle waves, yelling for help for anyone, all the while with her good hand she twisted the ring on her finger- she'd promised she'd never, that she'd never..

The hand caught her foot and she found herself falling, skidding on the asphalt, scraping the her chin off, raw and pebbly. Cursing she twisted and turned to see the figure still ten feet away, the ?hand? still somehow pinning her ankle to the ground.

_Damn,_ Ace thought. _I've gone and rolled Elasta-girl. Where's Arnold when you need'im?_

Ace screamed with frustration as her tormentor stood above her. Street lamps and stars vanished as the woman pressed closer and they were face to face, alone except for the occasional roar as cars drifted past, oblivious. The woman held a single, steady hand over Ace's chest, right above the heart.

"Tell me where it is."

Without realizing why, Ace suddenly knew what the woman was after. Not that it really mattered, but it had been bothering her. As she watched, the woman's fingers grew impossibly longer, fusing together to form a slick, black knife; Ace felt a stab of envy: that was one hell of a body armor.

And then with a viscous thrust the knife plunged into her flesh and sliced between her ribs, hovering a millimeter above her heart. Ace knew she should have felt pain, terror, something, but the strike was so precise, so sharp that all she felt was a wave of overwhelming disgust that something was _inside_ her chest, tickling nerve endings she never knew she had.

Ace did blink, her hands curled into fists and spittle flecked her lips, but she looked the woman straight in the eye.

If this was it, she was damned if she was going to die screaming.

The woman flashed her a quick smile. And then twisted the blade.

Even as her mind arced with the pain of it, Ace felt the blade quiver, tremble and slowly withdraw, as if repulsed by her innards. Ace swore as she managed to grab hold of it with both hands, attempting to force it away from her, pushing against the impossible force- and she gasped. The blade- it _hummed_.

And with an eternally long thump of her heart, Ace knew that hum, knew that touch: it was the TARDIS, the Doctor's TARDIS and this horrible bitch of a woman was wearing her as a fucking _suit_!

Ace snarled with rage and tried to pull away in revulsion, only to cry out as her raw flesh caught the end of the TARDIS body armor that still hovered above her bare heart.

"I don't want to hurt you," cooed the woman.

"Not," grunted Ace, "terribly convincing-" sweat stung at her eyes as she tore tiny, quick sucking pinches of air and into her burning lungs, "at the moment."

The woman extruded the blade closer, but it refused to press any deeper into Ace's flesh. "Interesting. She recognizes you." The woman stared at Ace's body, taking in the voluptuous breasts and the trim figure that lay beneath the tattered crimson red dress. "Not that I'm surprised. No matter." The woman pulled out a sword from her back, the blade gleaming in the street lamp.

The woman stepped back and Ace kicked backwards, gaining precious feet, her hand clutching her seeping chest, the ring tingling on her finger as its call was answered.

"One last chance," the woman said quietly. "You don't realize how important this is, so I'm asking nicely: where is it?"

"I know where it is," Ace coughed wetly. Weak and drained, she wanted to sink into the pavement and far, far away from this mad woman. But she didn't want to miss the show. "I can tell you to shove it, if that's what you'd like to hear."

The woman sighed and stepped closer, her posture was reluctant, tired and almost sad. "Is that it?"

"Well," Ace sucked on her puffy and throbbing lip, "I promised myself that I'd stop saying things like this, but-"

The woman raised an eyebrow and took a step closer to Ace, sword raised high.

"-Look behind you."

The woman paused, considering, and then turned slowly around to find a tall black woman standing patiently beneath the street lamp.

Kadiatu Lethbridge-Stewart smiled and then calmly punched her through the twenty-second floor of the Marriott hotel.


	4. Aren't friends fun?

"I wasn't much help, was I?" Tegan grumbled to herself as she stared at the figure of the Doctor, barely visible, meditating at the front of the capsule.

"Not really, no…" Turlough fiddled with the comms scanner, flicking through Earth's stations. The planet, still the size of a blue-white mango, lay before them though the view screen.

"It was a rhetorical question." Tegan stared at her world. Almost home. Back to meet her- that, that… thing. "It's not me, you know. I don't care what the Doctor says. It's the Mara… it has to be."

Turlough frowned. "Why does she bother you so much?"

"I'd never do that, any of that." Tegan remembered the way her other self had macheted her way through the aliens. "I'm not a killer."

Turlough rolled his eyes. "One more time for those hard of hearing: she saved our lives. I don't know why everyone is so upset about it." Turlough glared at Tegan as if she was some sort of idiot. "I for one am very happy about that. You should be too."

"All those creatures…" Tegan stared out through the foggy portal. "I'm not a murder."

"Then what are you, Tegan?" Turlough sighed. "What good are you?"

"Excuse me?" Tegan bristled. "Who do you think you are?"

"Again with the endless arrogance!" Turlough punched the display panel with his fist. "I was stranded on your planet for years and you know the worst thing about living there, what made it such an endless hell? The fact that each and every single person there thought that they knew best, that they've got it all sorted out. Imagine living among them, knowing the whole time that they're nothing more than wet bags of sopping molecules, worshipping primitive deities and waving their 'technology' around as if it's something impressive, and not being able to tell them to their face, one at a time, that they don't know a damn thing."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"You! So she's a killer so what? She's killing all the right people so that we can survive. What would you have done? Screamed? What do you ever do?" Turlough was on a roll now, his anger spewing unchecked. "I'll tell you: complain. Bitch and complain. You don't know how to fight, you have no technical ability and you have diplomatic skills that will probably someday start World War Three. Yet you still walk around mouthing off left and right, and most often to me." Turlough drew a breath, delighting in Tegan's stunned expression. "At least she's effective. So what if she's a killer? Most of your planets leaders were in the armed forces, they've all killed and you honor them. The world doesn't stop once you've killed someone Tegan, the world doesn't change, it doesn't end just because you've become a murder. The next day you've still got to go shopping for crisps and milk." Turlough gathered up his data wafers and headed back to the Doctor at the front of the ship. "Not that I'd know of course."

Tegan found herself looking dumbly at where he had been sitting. Shocked, hurt and remembering….

The Mara. The Mara, inside her mind, digesting her slowly. Analyzing and commenting… Not just a parasite- the Mara was worse than that, it editorialized as it devoured too, echoing Turlough's words.

Ineffective.

Lifting every fear she'd ever known to her face, showing her how small and puerile she really was…

Useless.

Worthless.

Pathetic.

Tegan was back, remembering the experience all over again, hating it, reviling it, detesting it, wishing it would stop, stop, please god not again

notagainohgodnodoctorhelpmepleasehelpme...

* * *

Ace shuffled slowly up the dark street, trying to limp with style.

It wasn't easy, but she hoped that her dress gave her the illusion of cool, assuming no one got close enough to realize her face was a bloodied mess.

Act casual; don't look rushed.

The trouble with trying to outwit a viscous space bitch wearing a TARDIS battle suit was that said bitch could travel through time. Technically, if Ace could get back to her bike, she could too, but right now she was exposed in all eleven dimensions; a duck sitting on an erupting volcano about to be sucked into a black hole.

She'd get it back. She'd get there first. She had to. She'd take it somewhere safe. Back to the Doctor, but right now Ace really wished she had a decent pair of sunglasses right now.

Added moucho cool points, especially at night.

God, was that woman what she looked like back when she was into leather and ass-kicking? Ace hoped not. She suddenly felt terribly, terribly old.

Her broken toes were killing her. Regardless, the bums kept their distance and no leather clad harpies descended from the night sky. Yet.

After Kadiatu had kindly right hooked the whore into the nearest skyscraper, she'd nodded at Ace before leaping after her prey wearing what only Ace could imagine was a magical suit made of shifting force fields.

Typical. Ace never was much one for the latest fashions. Hell, she'd worn a dress to a rave for Christ's sake. Not to mention one that was over two hundred years old.

Ace had broken a promise to herself; she'd called Kadiatu for help using the ring the Doctor had left her. Not that she didn't trust the genetically engineered bio-weapon that the Doctor had seen, for some reason, to imbue with Time Lord powers; she genuinely liked the woman. Liked in the kind of appreciative way that one 'likes' the sun; it's wonderful, kept at a comfortable distance of several million miles. Up close it's another thing entirely. Ace pressed her aching limbs to walk faster.

Ace turned the corner. And there was her bike, right where she left it. And her purse… where the hell was her purse?


	5. Its just a jump to the left and then a s...

**San Diego, 2005**

Glass rained down around her. The woman was just pulling herself up from the cloud of disintegrated drywall as Kadiatu stepped into the ruined floor of the Marriott Hotel. The pulverized remains of a settee and queen-sized bed shuddered into dust as Kadiatu's feet thudded onto the floor. "Who the hell are you?" the woman spat, along with gobs of wet gypsum.

Kadiatu remained silent, waiting for the attack, refusing to be baited.

"Don't tell me, another one of the Doctor's companions." The woman shook off arcs of white powder as she braced for the attack. "I never thought I'd miss Adric."

Kadiatu tilted her head slightly, as if listening to something.

The woman took a step forward. "I've tried asking nicely… well, eventually. I just need something from her. After I get it, I'll go away, I promise." Her voice dropped to a menacing growl. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

Kadiatu smiled.

The woman came at her, lightening fast.

Kadiatu swatted away the hands that lunged for her neck easily- but let the woman's kick connect to her chest.

The TARDIS plated boot hovered centimeter's from Kadiatu's exposed breast. The woman's eyebrow notched upward as she stared at the shimmering force field. "Very pretty," she commented as her boot expanded in six directions, growing barbed prongs that lanced at Kadiatu's face like rabid snakes, the spiked points sizzling as they bit into the force field.

With a casual shrug, Kadiatu threw the woman across the room and out in the bay, twenty-two stories away. Kadiatu sauntered over to the edge to watch the splash that even the black of night could not hide from her eyes.

There was nothing. Just calm waves that lolled into the harbor, shimmering gently in the starlight.

The woman was gone.

* * *

Ace stepped around her motorcycle in wide, crazy, dazed steps, her eyes scanning the stained and cracked pavement, desperate for her purse. 

Then she saw the leg, covered in torn denim and sporting fine shoes, in scuffed black leather.

The homeless man lying on the stoop, his body swathed in a faded patchwork quilt and green army blanket, the face unseen, but a suspiciously purse-sized lump bulged from beneath his armpit. Ace stepped forward just as a hideously familiar accelerated screech slit through the air in front of her: the woman lunging towards her.

It was a blip. A blur. That sound again. And then she was gone.

Ace blinked at the clear air in front of her, gasping for breath as her heart started again. She took another step towards the vagrant, her hands shaking.

The screech sounded again, and the woman raged towards her, fury blazing out of her eyes, thin savage blades leapt from her fingers as she swiped at Ace's swollen face-

And then with a scream of fury, she was gone, accompanied by a calm blip and blur.

Screech. Scream. Blip. Blrr.

Screech. Scream. Blip. Blur. Screech. Scream. Blip. Blur. Screech. Scream. Blip. Blur. Screech. Scream. Blip. Blur. Screech. Scream. Blip. Blur…

The air around Ace swirled with hazy streaks as again and again the woman pressed her attack from every angle of time, from one millisecond to the next, each time being yanked away from Ace at the last possible moment.

Ace smirked, almost wishing she could see the woman's face as she reached for the slumbering man.

* * *

In the vortex, the woman screamed with rage as she kicked and bucked at the viscous harpy that clung to her back. "What the hell are you? Get off me!" 

But there was no sound in the vortex, just the foaming, churning maw of time itself.

With a savage, vicious twist, she broke free and threw herself into the vortex wall, slipping sideways back out into reality.

"Am!Xitsa," Kadiatu said quietly, "Pursue; log each time occurrence. Postulate possible patterns and develop attack algorithm."

"Of course," Am!Xitsa replied calmly in her ear, his bulk and that of the timeship embedded in a protrusion of hyperspace, extruding only the force fields that nuzzled and tingled Kadiatu's skin. "I ran a check on God's records. That biopattern was one of the Doctor's former companions. Tegan Jovanka. Another Earthling. Slightly altered, but mostly the same. Did you know that for a while there, I thought you were the biggest bitch in the universe?"

"Just goes to show…" muttered Kadiatu.

"Just goes to show."

* * *

**Costa Rica, January 21st, 1345**

Tegan flitted into existence in the air above a soothing, white bay, the blue green water tranquil and sighing against the coastline.

She hovered in the air, letting out a slow, shuddering breath, willing herself to remain calm. She was so close, so close. She had the edge, she had a start, she'd gained some time, she could think of a new plan-

The four dimensional pile driver slammed into her back with the power of a thousand meteors, ramming her against the sea with a resounding slap that echoed for a hundred miles.

* * *

**Bolivia, October 18th, 1542**

"What the HELL is she?" Tegan gnawed on her fist, the black oily TARDIS suit slipped away from her teeth, revealing the flesh beneath. She sat in a clearing, pointedly ignoring the fabulous array of greenery and fauna that swayed, chattered and sang in her presence.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The thing was coming. Hunting her.

She fumed. Tegan Jovanka was prey for no one.

She just needed a new strategy.

Without even thinking, she dematerialized, just as Kadiatu's boot swept through the air where her head had been.

* * *

**Chicago, June 7th, 2432**

Kadiatu twisted into reality, dropping onto the concraslab in an attack stance, her hands held high.

The alley was empty except for litter, bins and the roar of traffic as flitters soared through the air above.

"Careful," Am!Xitsa cautioned.

Kadiatu swept round at a speed faster than sound itself- but she was too late.

Tegan Jovanka smiled and dropkicked Kadiatu into next week.

* * *

**Chicago, 2432, June 14th, 2432**

Tegan was on top of her, her face leaning in close to the woman that lay pinned beneath her. Kadiatu's form slithered and sparked as she tried over and over to dematerialize, each time reappearing beneath her attacker. Transparent force field blades hissed and sliced through the air at Tegan as Kadiatu's face showed her confusion.

"I'm not going to harm you." Tegan said through clenched teeth. "I just need you to leave me the hell alone." Tegan's battlesuit extruded a third 'arm' that hovered just above Kadiatu's heart. "This won't hurt, I promise." The arm grew a hand that spread outward across the prone woman, enveloping her in a slick coat of black oil.

Kadiatu's outraged face disappeared beneath the shadowy film.

* * *

**San Diego, 2005**

Ace grinned as she held up her purse, the man still sleeping quietly next to her, oblivious. As she ran for her bike, she reached into the faux leopard skin and pulled out a small key that dangled from a pink rabbit foot key chain.

Straddling her bike, Ace activated the engine, the roar echoing in the quiet of the alley.

The quiet.

The popping sound was gone

_Ahhh… Shi-_

Even as Ace felt herself fly through the air towards the bum, her bike careening driverless into the street, she felt the quiet tug as the key was yanked from her hand.

_Sorry Doc…_


	6. Crowd pleaser

Despite her best efforts, the cart kept bumping against the seats as she steered it down the aisle, the carton of orange juice constantly threatening to topple. Letting out a forced breath through her flaring nostrils, Tegan trundled into the middle of economy class, catching snippets of random conversations that bubbled above the constant hiss of the air conditioning.

Passing a particularly fragrant Italian couple, Tegan applied the foot break and handed a packet of nuts and a napkin to the red haired woman that sat staring quietly out at the clouds that blazed cinnamon in the setting sun. The woman, all freckles and springy curls, smiled sadly as she waved away Tegan's offerings and turned back to the dying day outside.

There was something in those green eyes that made Tegan feel both sad and oddly reassured at the same time. It was the same look her mother wore the first day Tegan left for school.

Doling out snacks and beverages to the remaining passengers, Tegan found her gaze constantly flickering back to the woman with the wild hair and drab green fatigues, trying to remember where she had seen her before, but the memory, if that was what it was, eluded her.

Tegan rolled the cart to the next row, grabbed another stash of napkins and nuts and found that there was only one passenger, by the aisle, looking up at her expectantly.

It was her- the other her, wearing a slinky snakeskin dress and bracelets of bleached bone. The woman sniffed at the crinkly packet of pretzels.

"Is this the best you can do?"

* * *

It swept up his arm, it's caress a light tingle that made his hair stand on end, every nerve aquiver, waiting to see where it would go next, the motion and the suspense simultaneously soothing and sensual. Turlough wanted it to go on forever.

_**THWACK!**_

The leather slapped across his chest, leaving a stinging welt that soaked into his bare chest, burning with red.

Turlough flinched, gasping for breath, pulling away from her, but the restraints refused to give, keeping him pinned to the platform that hung from the ceiling by gleaming, twisting chains.

"You're new," the husky voice whispered, each word dripping slowly and deliberately into his ears. "Not very impressive, but new just the same."

Turlough peered up at the other Tegan who leered over him, a black raven's feather shimmered in the torchlight of the dungeon, its trembling tip quivering dangerously just above his shoulder.

"You're inside my head," Turlough tried to say coolly, but aware that his voice quavered and squeaked.

"Am I?" Tegan stared around at the cobbled floors and flagstone walls that dripped with damp and mold. "Perhaps I am. Or perhaps," her voice viciously seductive once more, "this is exactly where you want me to be…"

Turlough felt himself shudder at the thought, the slight motion causing his skin to brush against the feather once more. He couldn't stop from groaning.

"I can see all that you are, Vislor Turlough, and all that you'll be." Tegan laughed. "Is that what you want me to say? You don't need me to say anything, you know exactly who and what you are."

Turlough struggled once more against his bonds as she leaned in closer.

Tegan grinned as he squirmed beneath her. "Or perhaps, you're torturing yourself because you hate the fact that you like what I've become?"

Turlough closed his eyes, willing himself to wake up. This was just too disturbing on so many levels.

* * *

Tegan stared at herself, at a loss for words. "Sorry?" was the best she could manage, the package of nuts dangling precariously from her limp fingers.

"This," the other Tegan said, gesturing around the airplane with a bored finger. "Is this the best you could do?"

Tegan felt the soothing white walls of the fuselage dim and darken as a stain of gray static began to pepper and dissolve around them. The passengers began to mutter and shout in alarm and numerous pronounced bonging sounds echoed in the air as a hundred Attendant buttons were stabbed; someone was trying to get her attention.

"I'll admit, it's a nice bolt hole," the other Tegan commented. "I used Uncle Hubie's farm, much warmer, more personal, but of course, with family, there was more fear for the Mara to pick at, to try to get at me… but this… this was the dream… the highlight, the career…" With two fingers she picked the packet of nuts out of Tegan's hand, holding it between them as if it were a dead fish. "The goal."

Tegan's jaw fell as the woman dropped the package to the floor where it was swallowed by the static. Outside, through the flurry of the white noise and voices, snippets of Tegan's panic attack slipped through the cracks, disapproval and disgust curdling in the gaping cavities, seeping their way through.

"So I'm asking…Was this really the best you can do?"


	7. Deep breath

"Parsley!"

"Sorry?" Turlough blinked awake, his mouth thick and gummy from his sleep. Tegan dozed fitfully by his side. At least she'd stopped screaming.

"Nothing…" The Doctor was gently stroking the casing of the generator, muttering quietly. "Just having a craving that's all… How's Tegan?"

Turlough looked over at Tegan's slumbering form. "Just bad dreams I think." Turlough considered telling the Doctor about his own disturbing dream but decided that even if the evil woman were trying to take over his mind and destroy the Universe, he'd prefer that fate to discussing his sexual fantasies with the Doctor. Instead he said, "You're sure this Mara thing isn't trying to possess her?"

"Positive," replied the Doctor. "I've seen it enough often to know. There's nothing in Tegan's head except for herself." He frowned at her discomfort, obvious even in sleep. "Which is just as well… I'm afraid we may be up against something far worse…"

Turlough looked at the him with concern. "Are you alright? You seem a bit… off."

"I'm not a carton of milk, Turlough," the Doctor frowned rubbing some grease from his elbows onto his creamy jacket. "I like to think that I have a tendency to be more humble in this regeneration…"

Turlough couldn't help but roll his eyes; he pulled himself off of the bench and slowly began to pick his way towards the cockpit.

"… No, it's true. Honestly." The Doctor protested, his face indignant. "Nonetheless, I… This… I don't understand…. This _thing_."

Turlough paused and stared at the device: it was as if someone had tried weld a rotten cheese cake onto a bloated metal tortoise. The yellow gunk seemed to have melted irregularly against the scuffed and battered shell, leaving stained, crusty trails that congealed in bruised brown lumps. The panel that the Doctor had pried open was spitting out tongues of blue green light that dribbled sparks onto the Timelord's shoes.

"It can't be doing this. It simply can't. There is no way that this can be causing all this dimensional instability." The Doctor seemed almost petulant. "I have disassembled and reassembled technology from a thousand sectors from the dawn of time till the very end and I cannot fathom how this works!" He bashed it with his fist and then started to suck on his throbbing pinky finger. "And, for some reason, I'm craving tortellini with a nice white wine sauce garnished with parsley."

Turlough looked at the man with bemused awe. He never quite understood how Timelords could be the superior race in the Universe. He hoped that if his own race encountered them that at least they'd put of a fight. A bleeping from the front of the cockpit called for his attention. "Doctor, we've made orbit- we're ready to land. Doctor?"

The Doctor remained crouched over the device, gently whispering, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, oblivious.

Turlough glanced back to Tegan, still unconscious, her eyelids twitching, a slender trail of drool glistening as it snailed its way down her chin.

Turlough sighed and dumped himself down in the pilot's seat and disengaged the autopilot. It was probably just as well. He had the feeling that if the Doctor were ever to fly a ship like this he'd probably wind up crashing into the nearest planet.

Calculating a descent path he checked the fob watch that the Doctor had tied to the steering column: they'd make it to the coordinates before she would. But only just.

Which, Turlough couldn't help but feel, seemed terribly convenient.

As Earth loomed large on the screen, he caught a flash of his face, a transparent reflection caught within the viewing glass set against the blackness of space and he remembered, for a moment, an image from his dream, of himself, overly muscular, strapped into black leather and spikes standing over him wearing a raven cowl and a wielding a whip in one hand while a disturbingly large Crystal gleamed in the other.

Shaking his head in disgust, Turlough dove the shuttle into the upper atmosphere, vowing never to fall sleep again.

Ever.


	8. Landing Pattern

To Tegan, having a fight with Turlough was like having a bowel movement; you could rely on having at least one a day. And for some reason, each time, Tegan felt slightly relieved afterwards, like standing in a fresh breeze after a storm. Tegan studied her redheaded 'friend' as he walked in front of her, while some sort of mapping tablet bleeped away in his hand. He'd avoided eye contact since she'd woken up, which was honestly nothing new, but she'd also begun to notice him sneaking the oddest looks at her when he thought she wasn't looking.

It was beginning to irritate her.

Not to mention _that_ dream.

She could only recall vague snippets, flashes that teased and licked her mind from behind.

Which only made her more irritated.

She was, she realized, getting just a little sick and tired of people from every corner of the Universe unloading on her. It wasn't her fault that she was 'just a human' who wanted to 'just be an air stewardess'. Honestly, what was the big deal? It wasn't like she was trying destroy the Universe… how many of them could say that?

What was she trying to prove? She wasn't a warrior… She had absolutely not desire to fight and kill things…

"_Is this the best you can do?"_

The flash of the dream tickled her skull, the face- her face, her other face looking askance in the dissolving airplane. Tegan remembered being shocked, helpless that even she wasn't on her side. No one was on her side, the losing side, the completely useless side…

And then the dream was gone and she was walking down the road again under the sweltering summer sun, her feet clicking painfully on the asphalt.

And why the hell did she keep wearing fashionable heels? They never landed in the middle of a wine and cheese tasting. She always ended up getting shot at, always. Perhaps they were all right, she'd never learn.

Mind you, she could outrun a Cyberman in heels. How many people could say that?

Like to see a Cyberman dominating the universe in a pair of three inch Minolos…

Tegan began kicking any pebbles unfortunate enough to be within striking distance. It was hot, 98 plus yuckily hot, that certain kind of yuck that plastered her bangs to her forehead, made every square inch of her blouse sticky and tight and her head began to throb under the blazing sun. She glanced over at the Doctor, who didn't seem phased in the slightest, his head bobbing up and down merrily as he pelted down the road with huge, happy strides, the soiled metal turtle strapped to his back with frayed bits of cable. The thing must have weighed fifty pounds, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, while she had to partially jog to keep up with him. Her toes were killing her.

It wasn't fair.

There were certain questions that Tegan didn't really have to ask. She really didn't. But sometimes, just sometimes, asking the questions that irritated the hell out of the Doctor really made her feel just a little bit better. "Are we there yet?"

The Doctor sighed and pause for a moment, turning in the middle of the road, shielding his eyes to stare around at the far off houses, dirt tracks and fields. "I've really no idea," he said eventually. "Turlough?"

Turlough walked slowly back towards them, the tracking device glowing a faint amber. "The signal is weak, but it's somewhere around here."

Tegan had woken after the shuttle had landed, stumbling down the gangplank and into the shade of a copse of trees that Turlough had parked the craft near for shelter. It only now occurred to her to ask, "Where are we anyway."

"England, 1928," muttered Turlough as he twiddled at the device, yet the flashing lights remained unchanged.

"Try zooming out," the Doctor suggested as he adjusted the cables that clamped the alien pod to his back. "The geoprobe you deployed in orbit should provide imagery on the correct scale of be of assistance..."

Tegan watched him and made herself ask another question that she really didn't want to know the answer to… "What are we going to do when we find her?"… she had the feeling she knew what he was going to say: 'improvise'.

"Improvise!" The Doctor enthused. "I'm sure we'll think of something; the problem is she'll be here soon," he squinted in the sunlight as he gauged its position. "Imminently, I should think if I know my old girl."

"I'm assuming you're referring to the TARDIS," grumbled Tegan.

"Doctor!" Turlough blinked at the display. "Why are we in eastern Hungary?"

"What!" The Doctor snatched the device out of Turlough's hands, almost overbalancing under the weight of the pod. "We shouldn't be… we're not… oh dear."

There was a long pause.

Silence stretched on…

Tegan began to count: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Turlough matched her gaze, and they were once again joined, equal as the Doctor's companions, their earlier quarrel forgotten in their solidarity of not being Timelords. Tegan knew he hated these moments just as much as she was, but she was damned if she was going to ask this time, not with this migraine.

Turlough sighed and rolled his eyes. "What's wrong Doctor?"

"Everything's changing, the dimensional instability… continents shifting, have shifted will shifting, different probabilities, different times, everything's being ripped apart, we're in the coordinates we're supposed to be but the world has moved under our feet, literally. Look at it now, we've shifted to the Yucatan."

Tegan stared around at the quiet fields and the grass that swayed with the soft summer breeze. "Why can't we see anything? Why isn't it affecting us?"

"We seemed to near the middle of a focal point…" The Doctor gazed around him. "We haven't got much time before the instabilities become permanent and rip the planet apart. We have to find her now. We'll need to split up," he jabbed at the center of the display with a pale finger. "But keep heading towards the center."

Turlough watched his two companions fork out away from him, and rubbed his neck, slick and salty in the English summer heat. Mexian… whatever. He sighed. "And three guesses who we'll find there…"


	9. What would Brian Boithano do?

"_Is this the best you can do?"_

Tegan picked her way through the field, just to the side of the road, keeping her eyes out for any tall blue boxes. There was a house up ahead, tall and white, with an obligatory picket fence, although the paint was peeling and the pickets bent and baring limp splinters.

Tegan edged her way round the back, remembering more and more of her dream as she stepped through a gap in the fence and onto the lawn, between randomly placed trees and topiaries. Remembering…

…_the dismay, the hurt, the sadness, the frustration, the anger…_

There was a wishing well in the back yard of the house, the wall made of cobbles of white, red and orange, sagging in their bonds of crumbling cement. The tiny wooden braces held a slim, rusted bar from which dangled a twisted rope, frayed and gray.

Tegan peered over the lip and into the murky depths of the well below, looking for her reflection in the water, while her mind searched for the rest of the dream, remembering the anger, the anger…

She'd grasped it, embraced it and lashed back, three years of fear and annoyance wound tight, wrapped up then unleashed in nine simple words: "Just who the hell do you think you are?"

_Her other self raised an eyebrow, the dress shimmering in alarm._

"What's wrong with this?" Tegan threw her arms up in the air, the airplane walls beginning to re-solidify around her. "There's nothing wrong with my dream nothing!" She was shouting now, the passengers began to twist round and stare as they grew new torsos and legs. "So what if I'm just some dumb human from some tiny planet? I did the best I could with what I had and that's a damn sight more than most people do!" She was confident now, her nostrils flaring, staring herself down, staring down every condescending alien, every maniacal robot, every self-serving bastard that had tried to kill her and her friends. "So what if I do talk back to people… All I'm asking is for people to be polite and show some respect? Is that too much to ask? Yes, this is the best I can do, all right? I got out of my lousy town and worked hard to get a job so I could see the world, become a better person and help others, so if you've got a problem with that then just kill me know cause I'm sick to death of being judged by murderers, criminals and trans-temporal cretins!"

The passengers had broken out in applause when she finished, her other self vanished into thin air and that peculiar redheaded woman was smiling at her from her seat by the window who was-

standing next to the well beside her, looking into the dark depths, a sad, yet non committal expression on her freckled face.

"Who are you?" Tegan was too confused to be afraid. Behind the woman, the gap in the fence was gone.

The woman smiled. "No one. Not anymore. Not really. But I'm not important," the woman stepped to the side and revealed an ancient woman, bowed and bent, her long gray hair reaching to brush the edge of the well, her eyes blue and watery, peering out from folds of skin, loose and sagging. "I'm not here," the young woman continued, "officially, just returning a favor. I'm here for her."

Tegan stared at the old woman and gaped. She smelt the earth, fresh in the morning, moisture and dryness on her face, the scent of meat, of death, the musky sweetness of sex, the tang of blood, the coarseness of tree bark, the chill of moonlight on her back…

Tegan gasped as her senses were flooded with every sensation she'd ever known, every touch, every smell, every sensation and a million others she'd never known or ever know and instinctively she knew who the old woman was and how impossible it was that she could exist. "She's… she's _real_?" Tegan whispered.

"Only just." The young woman looked up at the gathering clouds. "The instability is growing, the world is falling apart, even maintaining this form is sapping both our strengths."

Tegan's mind stuttered with a thousand questions but the biggest slipped out: "Why?"

"She has been abused for centuries," the woman explained as she helped the old crone step closer to Tegan. "Raped, tortured, scarred and used as a pawn in a game that's spanned a thousand years…" The woman smiled as the small, hunched woman by her side before she looked back to Tegan. "And she's mad as hell and she's not going to take it any more."

Tegan stared in amazement, still not quite comprehending.

"This isn't my fight," the woman said as she held up the old woman's hand. "We're in the last stable area of reality right now, and you're the only human in it. The Doctor can't win this one; he's already lost and deep down you know it." She motioned for Tegan to take the wrinkled and veined hand. "Well," she asked. "Shall you be Mother?"

Her mouth dry, Tegan found herself reaching for the trembling hand, not letting herself think, not letting the bravado she'd found in her dream desert her, not thinking, not thinking of anything, just… just…

* * *

Turlough was leaning against the gate as the Doctor strode up, the fence head high and imposing. He held out the tracking tablet. "Dead center," he said pointing a finger at the white house.

The Doctor peered at the readings. "The sign said Allen Road… Any sign of Tegan?"

Turlough shook his head.

The Doctor sniffed at the air. "Mmm… bourgenvilla." He licked a finger and poked it into the air above the gate. "Temporal stasis field… this house is nailed to the center of the planet, anchored in time and space. Never understood why they insisted on scenting the field."

"Timelords?" Turlough asked.

"Very probably. Possibly even me," the Doctor conceded sheepishly. "I'm not exactly sure… it does seem terribly familiar…"

"Doctor…" Turlough pointed to the gate lock, ornate and peculiar for a picket fence. Dangling from the keyhole was a fake, pink rabbit foot, swaying gently in the breeze; up the short path to the house, the main door stood open, darkness hiding the hallway within.


	10. She's into superstition

"Do we wait for Tegan?" Turlough asked as he made his way up the short walk to the porch. "I haven't seen her."

"Nor have I." He bit on his bottom lip pensively. "I'd prefer it if we could spare her this encounter, if at all possible. Let's just have a quick look see…" He took the steps two at a time. At the top, hands thrust in his trouser pockets, he waited for Turlough. "Besides, she may already be inside."

Turlough paused at the top step to the house and stared at the pink rabbit foot that dangled from the lock of the open front door. "It looks exactly the same as the key chain that's in the gate."

The Doctor squinted at the little clump of faux fur. "It is. It's a security system: the same key has to be in two different locks simultaneously. Only transtemporal entities can cross the threshold. Anyone else tries and all they'd find inside is an empty house."

"Gallifreyan technology…" Turlough muttered, not wanting to be the first to enter the dark house. "What is this place?"

"It's a Watchtower. Or it was." The Doctor straightened, shifting the heavy device on his back. "Blends into the environment and allows observers to study the entire history of a planet- without moving of course. It's anchored to the planet's gaiacore. Sort of an early TARDIS, but without the dimensional transcendentalism and… well, without the time travel of course. They were really only used as safe houses for teams to observe historic events or long term studies… it has been here, it will be here, it will always have been here, for the planet's entire history. I'd assumed there were a couple still lying around, I've just never run into them until now."

"And she's inside waiting for us..."

"Yes, well. Probably. Someone certainly has used the keys; as a safe guard, the field around the house prevents direct materialization, so she couldn't have just landed the TARDIS inside. Unless you have the codes of course. Now then," he put a hand on Turlough's shoulder. "You ready?"

Turlough squirmed. The Doctor had never touched him touching him before and he was even less thrilled about entering what amounted to a Gallifreyan hunter's nest. "Of course," he forced a tight grin, stepping slightly to the side. "After you."

The floorboards creaked theatrically under their feet as they stepped into the hall, pausing to adjust to the faint light that bled in through the boarded windows and tattered drapes. Turlough took one step at a time, testing the floor with each step, terrified that the groaning planks would give way. Hallways stretched in each direction, leading into dusty rooms stuffed with furniture draped in yellowed sheets. Turlough started towards one of the rooms, before the Doctor placed a restraining hand on his shoulder again.

"I don't think we'd need bother," the Doctor said, leading Turlough towards the back of the main stairway that sat, bloated in the central hall.

"Why?"

"Well, just a guess," the Doctor came to a halt next to a half-open door, its paint once gray and slick was now bubbled and stained with age. "Its the cellar. Its always the cellar."

Turlough followed as the Doctor thumped and clunked his way into the cellar. Turlough found a string dangling next to his face, and with a panicked swat, managed to turn on the light bulb that hung from a thick, fabric covered wire in the middle of the room, which was bare, aside from stacked boxes, old bicycles and a folding cot. "She's not here…" Turlough breathed thankfully.

"Mmmmmm," the Doctor agreed, pacing about the room, his head bent, his feet kicking the dirt floor.

"What are you looking for?"

"Controls to the Watchtower, or at least to the link to the gaiacore… the anchor controls should be down here somewhere…"

Watching him wander about aimlessly through the barren room, Turlough kept casting anxious glances up to the top of the stairs, wondering when sex-incarnate was going to thump her way down the stairs, hefting her Feathers of Death. "I don't see anything…" he ventured.

"No, you wouldn't. That's the problem with cloaking technology; mind you it's much more primitive than chameleon technology…" The Doctor poked blindly into one of the darkened corners, inadvertently scooping up a mass of cobwebs.

Turlough stood dead still, looking about the shadowy room uncomfortably. "Doctor, when you say 'cloaking technology'…"

The Doctor froze, turning slowly on the heel of his foot to face Turlough, his pale expression ghastly in the harsh yellow lightbulb. "Oh, dear-"

The air beside Turlough shimmered as Tegan towered above him, fierce black battle suit and all. Sweeping him aside with a casual flick of her hand, she leapt for the Doctor, her finger blades gleaming, yelling for death as she plunged her hands deep into the Doctor's chest.


	11. When the earth was still flat lyrics fro...

The notes of the guitar echoed throughout the room one by one, building gently; acoustic, emotional, touching. The voice, soft, male and British, sang each word with love, his timbre infusing every lyric with respect and awe:

_"When the Earth was still flat,_

_and Clouds made of fire_

_Mountains stretched up to the sky, sometimes higher,_

_Folks roamed the Earth like big rolling kegs,_

_They had two sets of arms, they had two sets of legs,_

_They had two faces peering out of one giant head,_

_So they could watch all around them as they talked, while they read,_

_And they never knew nothing of love,_

_It was before the origin of Love."_

There was a slight cough that cut through the darkened room. On the wall opposite was thrown a Powerpoint slide that depicted a flat green and blue world.

Click.

"And there was three sexes then,

On that looked like two men glued up back to back called

The Children of the Sun,

And similar in shape and girth,

Where the Children of the Earth, they looked like two girls rolled up in one,

And the children of the Moon looked like a fork stuck on a spoon- "

Click. Click. _**Click**_.

"Damnit, Willow! I thought you said any idiot could use this useless machine!" Giles shouted into the shadows.

"Yes. I did say that, sort of. In a way that I meant that anyone could use it, if they weren't a moron, but it's very dark and I'd hate to have my words taken out of context and used against someone when it wasn't really, probably their fault…"

"It's okay, Will- I'm secure in my moronocity. I'm licensed in three states," Xander flicked the lights on and walked back over to the laptop. "And despite my not having a future as Powerpoint projector guy, I'd like to know how this is educational…"

"This is about the Gods of the Olden-" Giles began.

"This is about you seeing i Hedwig and the Angry Inch /i four times this week at the Sunnydale art house." Xander pointed out.

"That does not diminish its instructive value." Giles sulked, gently stroking his guitar.

"Focus! Please." Buffy cut in. "Not the projector, Will. Giles, you promised to tell us more about where Glory came from, preferably without the minstrel narrative."

"Very well," Giles put down his instrument and walked over to the main table. "I can see when I'm not being utilized to my full potential…"

"He's not going to bring up the whole 'philistine' thing again is he?" Anya groaned. "I'm okay with it, I like being a philistine. It's kinda sexy if you look at it from the right angle, but can we get this over with? There are customers, outside, with money. And may I point out, that's something we don't have a lot of these days since demons keep trashing this place-"

"Yes, all right!" Giles cut her off. "Fine. Back to the story. Earth is old, very old, as you are aware. But the universe was once much younger and new."

"Oo!" Willow raised a hand excitedly. "Is this a young teen world gone wrong story-"

"No, it is not. The story begins much earlier than that, pre-Lifetime, in fact." Giles glowered. "As any chemist will tell you, this world is not the first. The sun is young, but not that young. Stars are like ovens, when they form and as they burn they create certain elements. There are elements in our solar system that can not have been made by our present sun, before the worlds we know were born. There was another, younger sun, with a different set of worlds in orbit, that held life much different than what we know."

"Mulder, this is a pile of shit." Scully routed desperately through the diaper bag looking for a pacifier as the baby screamed and screamed. "There's no way of knowing what the first solar system looked like, let alone who lived on it."

"Ouch." Mulder rocked the infant back and forth, making coo-cooing noises. "It's just a story. Anyway, born out of Chaos was a goddess, who gave birth to the seas and the mountains and the sky-

"And she married her own son, castrated the ruling god; I know my mythology, however much you're twisting it. What I don't understand is-"

"What's going on here?"

"Sorry, Kermit. I promise the chickens will be gone by tomorrow. It's just the Fab Five are coming over to renovate the theatre and Camila and I wanted to do something special for Carson."

"No," Kermit reached for the phone, "What's going on here? Why are we talking like this?"

"Oh," Gonzo said, shooing some chickens out of the way. "Cultural narrative. The Watchtower incorporates cultural figures to help the user adjust to the environment or provide answers to any of their questions. But it's only good to plus or minus three decades."

"Excellent, Smithers. But what is the turniped-nose vaudevillian buffoon trying to say?"

"Well, sir, it seems that the last solar system was destroyed violently, and there was only one survivor, who embedded herself into our world, forever hiding from the destroyer of her children."

"Hiding? In my precious earth? Who is this anti-establishment soil-dwelling harpy?"

"Gaia, at least that's the name that will make sense to you. Sidney, its very important that she not be found. The creature that destroyed her race and the old worlds has been hunting for her for four billion years." Marshall looked nervous. "If found, she won't be able to stop it from destroying this system all over again."

"Marshall, this thing, this destroyer, what's it called? Does it have a name?"

"Every culture has a different name for it, from one side of the Universe to another. It feeds of the very essence of a planet, sucking it dry of life. Culling its way through reality. But we do know that in legend it was called-"

"The Ruiner." Tegan, her black talons dripping with blood and ether, hoisted the shadowy figure out of the Doctor's chest, out from the flesh and into the light. The twisting and thrashing blackness spit sinuous tendrils that raged and flailed against Tegan's battlesuit, as if fueled by all the demons in hell. Turlough rushed to the Doctor's side, who had curled up into a bleeding, fetal ball. Tegan held the creature up by the neck, and stared it in the face. "Get the hell off my planet bitch!"


	12. You Need a Montage

"_Get the hell off my planet, bitch!"_

The Ruiner raged at her, spitting and hissing as her hands, TARDIS-strong, tore at the monster's neck. Its flailing tendrils swatted away the ceiling above them; lumber and dust thundered around them in a maelstrom of anger and bile.

Turlough clutched the Doctor's head against his chest as he tried to cover the Timelord's body as the demigods before him fought their way up into the main house, flares of energy and shrapnel clattering to the basement floor, a hail, lethal, indiscriminate.

* * *

The sky was storybook blue and the grass was greener than Crayola Mountain Meadow.

Tegan stood by the crumbling wishing well in the back lawn of the house.

Or at least she thought she was standing…

The world was swallowing her.

No- the curly haired woman swallowed her. But that was now.

Then, when the old crone touched her hand, Tegan felt everything, ever and always, filling her body, wrapping round her soul, warm, tight, invigorating. The wrinkled old face before her glowed and filled with firm flesh, the hair streaking with black, the skin blossoming with rich browns and lines that softened, a smile that could melt a world.

The energy kept rushing up Tegan's arms, filling her, feeding her, suckling her heart, her will, fueling her limbs, drawing life from the woman, who gave freely. As she watched, the proud young woman before her grew even younger, smaller, shorter, until she was barely more than a girl, her arm outstretched, her face frozen in an expression of either awe or terror. All that remained was this tiny statue that hardened into rock, leaving no trace of the stooped old woman who had been.

Tegan realized that she had stopped breathing and took in a great, sucking breath, feeling her chest, heart and arms flood with strength that she had never dreamt of; across her back was strapped a sword of adamantine, curved like a scythe. _Her heart raced with a burst of adrenaline that Tegan found it difficult to stand, sensing every hair on her body standing on end._

Then the curly red haired woman ate her.

Now, Tegan was running, running down a long white tunnel, running as she'd never run before, her legs possessed, pulsing with an indescribable energy that carried her down the impossible passage as if she were a raging flood, unstoppable, impossible, pushing aside reality itself so that she could run, run faster and faster and-

The tunnel spat her out again, landing on her thudding feet into a world full of glaring fluorescent lights and echoing steel grates.

Tegan was aware of her body moving, of a thousand thoughts processing simultaneously while she mentally sat in the center watching, taking it all in, her arms and legs dancing with motions that she'd always been capable of but never dared, with a grace and precision she'd wished for, but never attempted.

Her mind took in this new world in a flash: she saw the hanger, saw the Valourians, saw herself in mortal peril, saw the TARDIS. Saw the Doctor. Saw, even from this impossible distance, the fresh scars on the back of his neck.

And in that fraction of a moment, she understood.

She remembered being separated from the Doctor when the Valourians had interrogated her, remembered, him returning, hours later to help her escape, remembered running to the hanger, his puzzled state, his confusing comments as if he wasn't quite himself, not quite as confident as the Doctor she knew.

Tegan hadn't known before, but now knowledge was her blood and fury her light.

It was using the Doctor as a host, a shell, a pod. The Valourians had implanted it in him, using him as a vessel to get to her, to destroy her world. The dimensional forces ripping the system apart wasn't the device, it was the creature inside the Doctor, the Timelord oblivious, unaware.

Even before her feet touched the angry metal floor, Tegan knew what she had to do; she'd already done it. She plucked the rifle out of Turlough's limp grasp, sent him a quick 'thanks' and used the weapon to smash out the window of the observation deck and dived through, her sword drawn and flashing, her skin reveling in the form fitting black suit that encased her, protected her, encouraged her. She hacked her way through the press of aliens that planned to kill her world, her children, her home, laughing as she sliced through them, delighting in their death as she pressed closer and closer to the Doctor.

Grabbing the rifle out of mid-air she blasted away at the nearest aliens and held the Doctor, the thing, in her sights. Her finger hesitating momentarily- it was there, inside him, worming its way into his biomass, but it wasn't fully there, not completely manifested- it was incomplete. She couldn't destroy it, not yet.

Her eyes slipped to the TARDIS. She couldn't stop it, but she could slow it down.

Still blasting and slicing she leapt towards the timeship. All the while a familiar little voice was tickling her mind, asking her, horrified, confused and uncomprehending. Tegan used a fraction of a thought to send her a glib, placatory line, hoping she remembered it correctly and flashed herself a quick wink before slamming the TARDIS doors shut behind her.

* * *

The Ruiner laughed as it swatted Tegan through the living room wall, sending her skidding along the floor into the kitchen, linoleum melting under her transcendental form. Even as the beast roared, Tegan materialized behind him, sinking her hands deep into his incorporeal back, plunging, twisting, tearing in seven dimensions, searching, seeking…. Even as the form frothed and buckled beneath her it swelled in size as it began to pull itself fully into this dimension, long savage fingers brushing her exposed face, their touch dry, leathery, deathly.

Tegan backhanded the beast into the pantry with a savage yell

Beneath them, rocking gently back and forth, Turlough tried to sooth the Doctor's shuddering form, feeling his own clothes soak with the deep, sticky orange blood of the Gallefreyan- it was then that he saw the dust drifting down like ash from the wound in the ceiling above that he saw it; or rather didn't see it. The gray dust fluttered to a rest around a small space, a hollow, empty circle that sat about two feet off the floor, lightly outlining its invisible, melon like shape.

Gently resting the Doctor on the floor, Turlough began to crawl across the floor to the cloaked gaiacore control device.

* * *

Tegan stomped into the TARDIS Console Room, her mouth speaking words, ancient words, her mouth sore from the syllables and consonants that no human mouth should speak, the knowledge flowing out of her mind like sap from a maple. As the dematerialization noise filled the room, the panels on the console opened up in greeting, the transparent cylinder that enclosed the center column melted away, and the inner well of the timeship began to fountain ruby red temporal plasma. Tegan stepped up to the quasiorganic innards that sublimated beneath the metal controls and plunged her hands into the vessel's heart, white smoke twisting about her wrists.

"Miss Jovanka…" A polite voice began. "What, exactly, are doing?"

Kameleon, raw and undisguised, was standing in the doorway that led to the rest of the TARDIS, his shiny metal head was cocked just to the side.

Tegan spoke to him, not with words but with intent, with will, the power he understood, was bound to. Tegan was aware the thoughts were not her own, but knew what they intended, what had to be done- certain for the first time in her life.

Kameleon fell silent and strode quietly to the console, the flashing temporal energy bathing his silver skin a murderous, ember red as he put his hand on the debilitated chamelion circuit and accessed, replaced and modified it/himself, seeping into the TARDIS as a rapidly expanding flow of malevolent mercury as he became one with the ship.

Her hands still elbow deep in the ship's heart, Tegan began to feel the vessel, answer her call, reshaping itself, lapping onto her skin as it pulled itself inside out to wrap around her, embracing her, calling to her.

From another part of her mind, information, coordinates, leapt before her eyes and with a single thought, shaped in the simple form of a shiny silver key, she was off to the virgin end of the twenty-first century.

* * *

Above Turlough, Tegan leapt across the gaping hole, sparing a momentarily glance to see the convulsing form of the Doctor. With a flick of her wrist, a blob of black oil spat out of her hand and smacked the Doctor in the chest, the shimmering blackness filling his chest, pouring into the wound.

And then she was gone again, the crashing and screaming increasing in intensity as she rolled and fought out of sight.

The Doctor shuddered again and sank against the ruined cellar floor, unmoving and deathly pale.

Turlough carefully placed his hands against the invisible controls, the tips of his fingers tingling as they touched the spatially displaced object, his skin white, sweaty and shaking with panic.

He turned back to the Doctor, but the Timelord remained motionless and bleeding, the swirling oil encapsulating his chest.

Turlough turned back to the invisible device; was he supposed to destroy it or protect it? The Doctor had said that it controlled the anchor that pinned the Watchtower to the gaiacore yet was disabling exactly what that creature wanted?

And how the hell was he supposed to dismantle something he couldn't even see?

The crashing and screams grew thunderous in proportions and the world seemed to quake with their fighting, rocking the very earth beneath his feet.

A groan escaped Turlough as he stared into the empty space, desperately wishing that the Doctor, possessed or not, would wake up. _Now_.


	13. The Rest

_Fhoop._

_Fhoop._

_Fhoop._

The white dashes flashed outside the window, streaking off into the night as the car sped along the highway. Tegan pressed her nose against the glass, leaving a small daub of grease nestled within the cloud of moisture that her breath blessed, again and again, onto the cold window.

_Fhoop._

_Fhoop._

_Fhoop._

Tegan kicked her little feet back and forth, high above the dirty floor mat, invisible in the dark. Kicking in little circles, her tiny legs possessed dervishes as she occasionally, just occasionally, bounced off the leg of the other, older girl in the back seat with her, letting her know whose side of the car was whose. Two shadowy heads, mounted with tufts of hair occupied the front seats and in front of the car was a movie screen, impossibly fixed in place as the car flew through the night.

On the screen was a blazing sun, that was an imaginary, unsun-like color, that filled the screen. Around it were worlds, worlds that merged and shimmered, like molten wax within a lava lamp, the globules wobbling and joining before parting and _boing-boing-boinging_ away on to their orbits, their journey making a song that not even the silent void of space could silence; it was a system delighting in life, shouting, crying, rejoicing in this new Universe.

Tegan was bored. She shifted uncomfortably, staring out the window again, pulling up her feet to sit her rump on them, straining awkwardly under the cloying embrace of the seatbelt that held her fast. Outside the window the world was smothered in darkness as black as the space on the movie screen; all she could see was the quick, quick motion as the painted dashes on the road swept passed, _fhoop, fhoop, fhooping_ off into nothing.

The screen caught her eye again as the worlds frolicked in their playground of absolute zero, spinning and dancing that could only be seen through the fast forward of memories, their motions too small and slow to be noticed by a child's eye. But this was a movie and Tegan loved movies and her little eyes grew wide with delight as she wished to join them, to fly away out of this car, to dance and feel the sunlight.

The view changed suddenly, to the edge of the playground, where the other stars glittered darkly, cold and icy, flickering as a small, black shape slipped passed them, sinking unnoticed into one of the jovial outer worlds of the system, disappearing in the gaseous dermis, unfelt, its touch precise and perfect.

The worlds continued their dance, uncaring, unaware, slipping past their swollen brother, altering their orbits and crashing into each other with increased speed and frivolity, not noticing the black clouds that stirred and gathered, swarming and storming across the vast surface of the world before dissipating from the blue and garnet sky once more.

One of the smaller, pink felsic worlds leapt joyfully into its recovered brother, slipping through its surface, friendly and caring as it tucked and wriggled through non-Euclidean space. When it emerged on the other side, it wobbled, its axial tilt just slightly off, its precision erratic as the black clouds licked and frothed through its skies as it had through its brother, before disappearing again. The little felsic world jiggled and twisted before joining the dance once more, reveling in the solar music.

And on and on the darkness spread, merging and swarming before sinking below the surfaces of many worlds, blue or scarlet, bubbly or stagnant.

One world, the runt, did not dance with the rest, preferring the close embrace of its mother sun, swimming alongside despite the flares and the blistering heat. It did not dance, but looked eternally inward, in awe of what birthed it, in love, undeveloped and stunted in size, its heart delighting in the warmth given so freely.

It never saw the plague that infested its brethren. Not until it was far, far too late.

Just as the dance was peaking, the music and mathematics reaching an ecstasy rhythmic harmony, the blackness ruptured through the skin of the worlds, clawing through the surface, swarming through the skies, leaving behind sravaged hredded planetary husks as they lunged for the sun, diving through the flares and flaming tongues and burrowing into the center of the star, tearing and biting their way through its blessed light.

The turbulence rocked the runt from orbit as the shadowy ravens sped passed, intent on their kill, and it rode the charged solar currents of its mother's agony into the Oort clouds, whinging and cringing among the black specks for a cloak, for protection as it watched its mother fight against the invaders, before they reached her heart and leached it of life, laughing as they watched the star swell and nova, its last raging fire swallowing her children's corpses in a final effort to save their decimated spirits, that were long ago scattered against the galactic tides.

Leaving the expanding sun, the shadows turned as one to the blasted system, hunting and searching for the lost world, the runt. But tear and claw as they might, they could find no trace, spreading their search further and further outward, their ranks thinning and thinning as they began to search for new systems, for new prey and breeding grounds as they sank back into the dimensional cracks that crackled throughout the young universe.

The tiny world felt them sweep near, almost brushing her surface as they passed, and slowly, ever so slowly, she crept back to her mother's body, as the chaos of the system coalesced and reformed worlds, cold worlds, strange and lifeless, around her.

The runt knew she must hide before the shadows, the Ruiners, returned to claim her, so it allowed the molten rock that littered the system to coat her hide, masking her, shielding her, encasing her, gradually slowing into an orbit to watch its new mother reform and burn, but without the spirit, without the warmth it once gave.

Here hidden, it watched life come and go on its surface, some life sputtering and spreading to other worlds briefly before vanishing, despite her attempts to awaken the other worlds, or her mother's spirit. Alone she waited, harboring life upon her surface, waiting, waiting in fear- always watching, always waiting for the darkness to return from beyond.

Tegan kicked the seat in front of her, horrified by the plight of the little world, orphaned and alone. Tegan stared at the sun as it faded from the screen, turning back to her window, her mouth pouting as her mind thought, over and over:

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't right.

_Fhoop._

_Fhoop._

_Fhoop._

* * *

"Come on Doctor, come on, wake up," Turlough muttered as he stared at the invisible device. The only light in the cellar had been smashed when the clashing Titans had taken out the ceiling; light filtered down through the massive hole of splinters and dust. Even as Turlough watched the floor/ceiling seemed to be repairing itself as the Watchtower healed its wounds.

Unfortunately, the Doctor was immune to Turlough's muttering and repeated glares, remaining prone, on his back, the black goop Tegan had thrown at him filling his gaping wound, swirling and bubbling, his body covered by the shadows that began to flood into the room once more.

Turlough could swear there was a keypad on the device; he could see the faint edges under the layer of dust that had fallen on it, his every breath threatening to disturb it. Swearing at his own stupidity, Turlough bent down and began to scoop up dust and dirt and fragments from the wreckage that was the cellar floor and dumped them on top of the Gallifreyan unit.

Wincing as he felt bits of metal and flakes of wood stabbing into his hands, he cursed as he saw the complex keypad materialize beneath the powder and crud. It looked vaguely like the dematerialization controls from the TARDIS, only older, more primitive. He doubted he would be able to decipher it.

"Now would be a good time, Doctor," he grumbled as the crashing upstairs grew louder. "Anytime…"

Think, think, _think. _

Super Tegan came here for a reason… why? To destroy this control unit? Or just to wait for… The Doctor? Or whatever was inside the Doctor? What did it want, control of this device? To use it or destroy it?

Turlough grabbed a piece of lumber and raised it over the device, his mind racing. Would destroying it help the Doctor, or help Super Tegan? Or was it exactly what that thing inside the Doctor wanted?

Turlough hefted the piece of wood.

If nothing else, smashing it would make him feel better. And at least it would be something, which was better than doing nothing… surely?

Turlough slumped to his knees and groaned at the device in anguish.

It sat there, uncaring.

It was only then that Turlough noticed that the Doctor was gone.

* * *

The Ruiner had changed, evolved, Tegan considered as she slammed it through the dining room table and then rammed it, face first through the ceiling, and into the upstairs bathtub. With each blow, she could feel the swarm inside it, twisting, seething to get out, but it was nowhere near as strong as she'd last seen it, when it had destroyed her peers and raped her moons that she'd left behind. It was weaker, barely existing in this reality, its blows ineffectual against her battle suit, desperate, as she'd thought, to access the well, the link to her core, her center, her weak point.

Four billion years of evolution, Tegan smirked as she launched herself through the ceiling and dropkicked the creature in the 'face'.

_Look who's the Beast now! Beg for my mercy like you did my family!_

The shivering form of the Ruiner slammed through the wall and fell to the lawn, sprawling on the ground, its nearly incorporeal form a parody of the man it had infested, limbs and torso spitting tendrils that thrashed and bit at the lawn, as it pulled itself to the crumbing well that lay scant feet way.

Tegan's face glowed with fervor as she leapt it, her sword arching to scythe it in two.

And then, as she fell from the sky, her hair flaming red in the setting sunlight, her blade slitting the air with fury, the black form twisted and morphed and it was gone- replaced by the pale form of the Doctor, standing at the well directly beneath her plummeting form, slumped over the well, his arms outstretched over the rusted metal pole, his head dangling over, staring into the black depths, the black feathery shadows of the Ruiner twisting under his cream jacket.

* * *

In the cellar, Turlough was in mid-groan when he heard a _bleep bleep _sound chime in the darkness.

Turlough raised his head and let out a longer groan: bleeps never, ever meant anything good.

* * *

Tegan sighed. She was dead bored. The little girl next to her was kicking the seat again. The movie had grabbed the child's attention for a short while, but Tegan knew it was only a matter of time before she would be thwacking her legs again with those dreadfully painful shoes with their ghastly pink laces that seemed to glow even in the dark of the car.

Tegan leaned forward in her seat to try to see over the driver's shoulder, to try to see the digital clock, but she couldn't see. She crossed her arms again and let out another sigh, louder this time.

No one noticed. No one even looked at her. Tegan turned to her window, her eyes searching the sky for a moon or stars as they flew along, but the ground might as well be a thousand miles away, so thick was the blackness. Faint lights passed by, signs and mile markers, the faint glow of houses; lives, other lives were happening as she sat here, speeding onward. Lives, events, actions, all were hidden from her in the warmth of the car's heaters and comforting glow of the dashboard.

She could see her reflection though, pale and ghostly against the glass, her hair, long and thick, sank into the darkness around her shoulders, her ear slightly swollen from the new piercing. Her first earrings dangled from her lobe, her skin fresh and freckled with acne. Tegan sighed again at the sight and turned instead to movie screen that still hung impossibly in front of the speeding car.

Tegan tried not to look, she didn't want to gawp and gape like the child beside her, so she watched out of the corner of her eye, watching life pepper and sprout over the little world, watched ships shower down from the sky as time flashed passed, millions of years at a time. None of which held her attention, save one. One ship, silver and flashy, that did not appear from the sky, but seemingly out of nothing, plunged itself into the world's core, its blade slender and fierce, cutting into the molten heart of the planet. Then, leaving the needle still bleeding in the crust, they left.

Fascists.

Tegan frowned as the screen seemed to flash and stutter: another movie started to interweave with the first in quick, sharp licks. It was as if someone had combined two separate flipbooks together, every other page of the book a different narrative. This one was much more interesting; Tegan found herself leaning forward in her seat as a hero, seen through the hero's eyes, fought its way through a crowd of gnashing spitting bugs, sword flashing, arms weaving, hacking and slashing through the ranks of creatures which somehow Tegan knew were aiding the Ruiner, helping it to return and destroy the helpless little world.

Tegan felt her anger rise, mentally cheering the hero on as it carved through the ugly beasts before leaping heroically through the air and into a ship of dreams… and then there was a blur before the view changed again, filled with oceans and beautiful green, a world in its prime, in its glory.

Then the view swept down from the sky, taking in beaches and brown land, pitted and scarred with freeways and revolting housing complexes, crusty, wooden acne that soiled the land, as the view continued to sweep towards towers of metal and hate that bit into the earth, that bit at the sky with glass and steel forged from heat made of screaming trees and processed Earth.

Tegan fumed with anger and rage directed at whatever creatures could desecrate a world that had formed them, that had nurtured them, as the view descended up on a girl in an alley, her red dress fluttering around her in the cold night air.

The image coughed, flipping back again to the world as it formed, out of synch, out of time. Tegan watched creatures birth and swim, crawl and hatch, swarming and sleeping across the surface of the world, eating each other, the weak perishing, the strong surviving. Always the weak died, from the smallest, earliest microbe to the largest reptile, and then not even they were strong enough and the world spewed volcanic death of fire and ash, killing them all, starting afresh, slaughtering the weak, again and again and again for the world must be strong enough to survive another attack from the Ruiner, she must survive, she MUST have her revenge.

Almost as if something was tapping into her angst and rage at life, Tegan felt herself cheering as the hero leapt at the girl, attacking: smiling as she inflicted pain upon the weak, trembling woman.

When the black woman, wielding blows that could level mountains appeared, Tegan lost interest again momentarily. She wasn't interested in a losing battle.

As she stared out the window as the towns flew passed, the cloudy night skies above them, seeping with the magnesium yellow of the streetlights, Tegan was aware that the movies were still flickering, still passing, intermingling.

It was only as the hero ripped the Ruiner from the chest of man that Tegan found herself transfixed again, her fists tight and sweaty. Delighting in the destruction as it smashed its way through the house Tegan's nostrils flared, awaiting the final blow, the ultimate climax.

And then it was there:

The creature had fallen, writhing upon the ground, crawling towards the well, the gateway and as she dived towards it, it changed into a weak man, the blond man it had infested before; it was filling him, its manifestation complete as it pulled itself entirely into this dimension.

The Swarm of the Ruiner had arrived, still trapped, just barely, within this fragile, mortal, fleshy host. She had tasted its vibrations before; it was one of the ones that had pinned the blade into her core, that had wounded her, weakened her. And she saw that she could dispatch both creatures with one, single blow...

_Revenge!_ teenage Tegan thought as she egged the hero on to raise her sword to bring it down upon the Doctor's pale neck.

* * *

It was coming from the steel cheesecake.

Turlough slowly turned to see the curdled tortoise powering up, forgotten, half-buried among the wreckage, as a hateful light of orange and purple seeped out from its fissured shell.

The beeping increased, faster and faster.

Turlough looked from the crusty turtle to the invisible device and back to the turtle again, as a slow, clawing sensation of horror began to churn his stomach. With a grisly creaking sound, a portal opened up on the yellowed and rusted flank. With a grating scream it blasted out a raging cylinder of pure energy that slapped against the control panel, burning and twisting, as it drilled through the invisible surface.

Turlough felt the earth beneath him, tremble and quake. "Oh," he began, "shi-"

But he was already sprinting for the remains of the staircase as all hell broke loose.

* * *

"Who was it that taught you to drive again?"

"You did Aunty Vanessa," Tegan replied in a tired monotone.

The tiny plastic figure dangled from the rear view mirror, swaying back and forth with the motion of the car; it had the body of an angel, with the face and hips of Tegan's aunt.

Blazing on the screen in front of Tegan was a memory of the mother sun, the particle flares and vaporizing solar heat lashed out from the screen and bathed the hood of the car in molten oranges and blistering yellows.

Tegan continued to drive, even as the fire flickered through the windscreen and boiled the flesh of her hands. "I can't even feel any more, you know that?" Tegan said in a daze. "Nothing hurts any more." Glancing in the mirror, she saw herself as a teenager, all retro hair and dark attitude, festering behind her. Next to her she saw herself as a child, pouting, cheeks puffed, chin thrust forward, determined to change the world. Beside her, in the passenger seat, her future self, old and hunched, kept fading in and out of existence; her future face was pale, lined and spotty, Tegan tried not to look too closely, and instead focused on the road, or rather on the screen, ahead of her. She felt Vanessa's eyes on her and decided to start fiddling with the radio instead.

"That's not a good sign, is it?" Her aunt blustered, grabbing the fake angel wings with her tiny hands, trying to bend and fluff them into shape. "The rest of you are certainly feeling something, I can sense it from here." She motioned to Tegan's two younger selves in the rear seat, their anger and righteousness practically blazing in dark confines of the darkened car.

Tegan sighed. "I just wanted to help. To be useful."

Vanessa took a long hard look at Tegan. "You remember Shane and Tizzy, when you were younger?"

Tegan grunted.

Vanessa pressed on. "You remember how every summer how they'd call and call and pester you to take them with you to your parent's cottage by the ocean? Do you?"

"Yes, Aunt Vanessa. I remember." Tegan was barely paying attention. Faces and images flashed across the movie screen and she was doing her best to steer, to make the best decisions, to win.

"And then remember how afterwards, every fall they wouldn't so much as speak to you, the pair of them? And then every summer, who suddenly wanted to be your best mates? I warned you about them, didn't I?"

"Yes, Aunty. I remember. You were right, I was wrong…. Do'ya mind? I'm trying to drive here!"

"Take your hands off the wheel dear." Vanessa said calmly, her tiny ball-like hands resting on her plump, quivering hips.

"Sorry?"

"Humor me, Teegs."

Very slowly, Tegan released her grip the steering wheel.

"There's a girl."

To her dazed astonishment, the wheel kept moving without her hands, as if the car was on autopilot or… or driven by... someone else…

"Just like Tizzy and Shane," finished Vanessa. "No different. No better. Worse, probably."

"This isn't a pair of brats," Tegan protested. "This is Mother Earth… a goddess." Her voice was simultaneously filled with awe and hollow with disbelief at her own words.

"Oh that's a load and you know it," Vanessa spat back. "Just another alien out for revenge, no better. All right, a very old and very large one, and possibly the sentience of the Earth itself, I'll give you that, but it's still using you, just like those two did. Doesn't give a damn about you does it? Worse of all, it makes you think you're in control!"

Tegan stared at the flames that were once again engulfing her arms and chest… it'd be so much easier just to melt away. "Just like the Mara…"

"Oh you do go on about that, don't you?"

Tegan looked up sharply, wounded.

"Girl, I'm telling you now, get over it. You beat that asp fair and square, twice. You, no one else, just you, Tegan Jovanka, you took that thing head on and where is it now? Not anywhere that I can see. Take some credit and stand up for yourself for once. Can't you see you're letting this thing feed on your juevenile anger and rage. Yes, Tegan it's in you: anger, hate and violence, it's in you, alive and well. It's in all of us. So you can either sit there simpering like a cretin or you can pull yourself together and get on with it. Are you part of this family or are you the weak link this goddess seems to think she keeps breeding?"

Tegan frowned. "What exactly do you expect me to do?" she asked, motioning to the steering wheel that was still moving on its own. "I'm not exactly in control, am I?"

Vanessa sighed, shaking her plastic little head. "After all this time about everyone complaining how useless you are…you've been given the power of a god, isn't it about time you started doing something with it?" she asked hopelessly and stared pointedly at the handbrake. "Didn't you learn anything from me?"

Tegan blinked.

Old Tegan blinked.

Teenage Tegan blinked.

Young Tegan blinked.

On the screen in front of the four Tegans, towered the face of the Doctor, pained and blistering as the wishing well roared as the very fires of hell poured out of the depths to consume him, his eyes were wide and pleading, staring at her as she leapt from the sky, blade held high, fell to slaughter him, and she saw in his eyes as he realized what had possessed her, and how he had failed to save her.

And the look of sadness he wore was horrible to see.

With a savage yell, Tegan yanked on the handbrake.

* * *

/GET OUT/

Turlough staggered out of the back door of the shuddering house and fell upon his knees, his head ringing with words that screamed without sound. They were not directed at him, but he could feel them echo in his mind, so great was the anger, the strength, the determination… Turlough raised his head to see… to see…

The sky was a livid, fleshy bruise of squashed mangos and aubergine as the darkened clouds loomed over the house. In the center of the tearing winds and swirling debris there was the figure of the Doctor, leaning against the wishing well as darkness, in a swarm of black wings and flapping shadows, raged out of his chest and plunged into the well that glowed a molten orange, its heat and fire flickering up to lick the sky in a colossal column. And suspended in the sky was…

Turlough had to blink to make sure he was seeing things properly, for in the sky, hovering only a few feet above the Doctor's slumped head, its great wings twenty feet across and shimmering with blackened quicksilver, was the figure of Tegan, her face contorted as she seemed to be forcing, almost spitting out…

And then with a flash that made the sky cry out in pain, Tegan smiled as colors, red, gold, chestnut, apricot and emerald fluttered across her great silver wings, that banished the mercury and sooty black and with a great yell she cast her adamantine sword high up in the air, its blade spiraling end over end as the clouds swallowed it whole before, with a single great flap of her massive wings, she landed before the Doctor/Ruiner that leered back at her through the towering pillar of fire that led deep into the planet's infernal heart.

As Tegan's feet touched the ground, the wings of her battle suit folded around her, lapping over and over each other in a riot of colors before vanishing smoothly into her back. She stood tall and proud, hands on her hips, as she faced the creature as it poured its spawn out of the Doctor's body to flitter joyously around the puncture in the earth's crust.

Despite the wind, the roaring of the shadows, the tremors that rocked the ground and the distance between them, Turlough could hear Tegan as she spoke, quietly and calmly, to the creature that had infested the Doctor.

"You've been destroying her kind for four billion years, from one side of the universe to another, and somewhere, somewhen out there, something beat you, crippled you to the point that you needed a species as low as the Valorians to help you travel here and reconfigure the Watchtower's link because you were too weak to suck her dry like the rest of her family… you need her soul fed to you like a coma patient, drip by drip." Tegan cocked her head to the side. "I ask you, four billion years of evolution… is this the best you can do?"

Turlough could have sworn he saw Tegan smile.

The creature reached out through the flames, its spawn diving and tearing at her exoshell, shredding and gulping at her skin. To Turlough's horror, he saw Tegan's confident expression falter and flee as panic gripped her. She began to swat at the creatures that appeared to devour her protective suit, piece by piece, vanishing to expose her bare skin as the storm roared through the air around

Turlough's mouth was pasty and dry as he saw her go down, buried by their massive numbers, her figure writhing in seething blackness before lying still upon the grass. Finally, stretching their lumpy dark shoulders and raven-like wings, the shadow creatures left the Doctor completely, leaving his empty body to collapse at the base of the well while the creatures delighted in the towering heat of geologic damnation.

The sound was so quiet, Turlough thought he was imagining it; its crescendo was so gradual, he thought it was his own labored breathing.

As its minons began to funnel into the fiery pillar to feed on the earth's center, the Ruiner seemed to notice Turlough at last, turning towards him, shadowy talons slipping across the lawn towards him.

The moment their deathly touch brushed his face, Turlough's heart forgot how to beat.

With a tremendous crashing, the sword plummeted through the roof of the house, scything straight down into the cellar, stabbing the Valuorian control device through its heart. As the crescendo completed, a silver figure materialized beside the Watchtower's control unit, flicking and pecking away at controls invisible to the human eye.

The Ruiner screamed in fury as the column of flame that emanated from the well flickered and downshifted from glowing amber to a stagnant, sickly black. The Ruiner's swarm spun and whirled as they tried to flee from the tower of oily sewage, diving for safety of the portal pinned within the Doctor's biocore. They threw themselves desperately against the Doctor's chest as the wishing well began to suck them down into its black heart but they found themselves bouncing off the Timelord's skin, that was now encased in shifting black plasma, impenetrable, immune to their clawing. Their screams reverberating through eleven dimensions, Turlough clutched at his head as the massive black figure before him was pulled, twisting and thrashing, down into the wishing well before vanishing completely.

And just as suddenly, the sun came out, ruby red and setting, its beams golden and warm as they reached through the trees to brush his pale and sweaty skin.

His head still ringing, Turlough knelt on the lawn.

Waiting.

The first of the stars came out.

Dazed, Turlough began to pull himself along the grass towards Tegan's limp body, her face ashen and lifeless.

Of the Doctor and the wishing well there was no sign.

* * *

The room was alive: clear, bright and translucent. Outside their invisible walls the partly cloudy sky was bright and summery as the sun made its first dive behind the trees on the horizon. Beneath the transparent floor, the grass seemed to poke through the smooth surface as if the soft green blades were just beneath it.

The Doctor opened his eyes and saw a tiny earthworm, pink and sticky with tiny grains of sand, staring back at him from its home within the soil.

The Doctor smiled and pulled himself up slowly, noticing how a mercurial goo seemed to slip from his chest and melt into the invisible floor. His chest, exposed through gaping torn sweater was smooth and healthy, the skin unmarked.

Sitting up, he turned to see in the center of the room was the wishing well and just above it, trapped with a lazily turning pillar of gold, was the face of a woman, her face perplexed, her eyes observing him with a mixture of confusion and fear. "What is this place?" Her voice was the crackle of fallen leaves in the autumn. "What has happened?"

The Doctor pulled himself to his feet and sauntered towards the face, his hands thrust deep within his pockets. Through the walls he could see Turlough holding the prostrate body of Tegan in his arms and the Doctor forced himself to take even, measured breaths before addressing her. "She saved the world, all our lives, including yours… without having, I might add, to kill me in the process."

The Doctor's voice was warm yet filled with a sadness of such impossible depth that the face found it difficult to look at him- except she knew the same emotion herself, once, long, long ago. She had forgotten.

"Sometimes," the Doctor continued, "I don't think I give her enough credit."

"And the Ruiner?"

"Gone, crushed to a singularity," the Doctor sighed. "The 'well' is not so much an anchor as a portal. Tegan was clever enough to lure the creature out of me, trap it within the well and then change the entrance point from the earth's center to that of a black hole… though I suspect she may have had some help."

"She… she evicted me, when I tried to…"

"Kill me?" The Doctor finished for her. "Yes. Yes she did. And I'm fine, thanks for asking... She can be a very determined woman sometimes- only this time, her stubbornness saved my life. Even when you were in control, she subconsciously managed to protect me with plasma from my ships hull, which not only helped to heal my wound but prevent the Ruiner from returning into my body. You could learn from her."

"Her species is killing me slowly… I can feel it already; yet I will outlast them, gone like all the rest before them… nonetheless…" The golden face began to fade and sputter as the invisible walls around them began to take shape, white and greasy they slid into existence, blocking out the view of the lawn outside. "I am grateful, Timelord. Tell her."

The Doctor frowned as he watched her fade. The Watchtower well was reinitializing, rebooting to its original settings, sucking her form down within it like a genie into a bottle- and then the golden visage was gone and sitting in place of the crumbling well unfolded the TARDIS control console, the scanner screen switched on, Turlough still cradling Tegan's body within its small screen. "I only wish I could," muttered the Doctor.

* * *

It looked perfect, but something about the walk wasn't quite right.

"Are you sure that's it?" Tegan asked.

"Positive." His voice was calm and soothing; you wouldn't know he was a professional assassin.

Or maybe you would.

Tegan remembered lying on the grass, her head holding a thousand hangovers, her skin, clawed, bleeding and bitten. Remembered the Doctor leaning over her, anxious, the reassuring blue shape of the TARDIS standing behind him where the wishing well once sat. Even Turlough looked concerned.

She must really have looked bad then.

"Turn around again." Tegan said, watching her pace around the room one more time. "God, this is weird."

The memories began to fade as soon as she opened her eyes, leaking out of her head and into nothingness, all the worlds she had seen, the ancient protocols, how she had tricked the Ruiner into thinking it was eating her TARDIS skin when in reality she was constantly reconfiguring it until she could dematerialize it completely, letting it think she'd failed, drawing it out of the Doctor while allowing Kamelion to access the cellar controls… all of it was fading, the memories, the horror, those women, even the confidence…

"Right, I guess that will have to do," Tegan sighed. The woman stood before her, silent.

The Doctor had built a Zero room all for her, a human zero room, just so she could heal from creatures using her mind as a rent-a-wreck… the room was bare, blue and smelt faintly of orchids dipped in honey. Tegan had insisted on dragging in an old phonograph and stacks of jazz lp's… she couldn't stand silence any more. And she had the vague feeling she ought to become more cultured.

The Doctor had kept the keys to the house, muttering something about needing a 'time share'...

"Now then…" Tegan stared at her own face; it was peculiar looking at it on someone else; like hearing your own voice on a tape, it felt wrong, surreal, off. She had a vague flash of a large black woman, standing up in a city alley, dusting herself off, swearing fluently. "You have all my experiences, all my memories?"

"Yes," Kamelion had adopted her own voice, which was even weirder in that exact same tape recording way, only not a metaphor this time. "I was able to download everything from the TARDIS telepathic circuits."

Tegan swallowed, trying to clear the lump that sat in her throat, swollen and awkward. "How do you feel?"

Eratz-Tegan's face leant to the side slightly as Kamelion's processors considered. "There is considerable confidence… I feel that you feel that you… that is to say, I, as you, feel like I…"

"Yes?" Tegan asked, shifting uncomfortably on her sling back heels.

"I feel," Kamelion said, more assured in his grasp of pronouns, "like I can do anything."

Tegan nodded. The lump seemed, if anything, to grow larger. She had seen so much, experienced so many things, life and death on an unimaginable scale. It made everything about life seem so small, so pointless, so… so… why?

Tegan swallowed again. "So," she pressed. "Since you are me, what do I do next? What is it I want to do with my life?"

Tegan/Kamelion opened its mouth, but no words came out, its face locked in a peculiar, vacant expression.

"I know," Tegan said sadly. "I don't know either."


End file.
